The blog of a teacher educator discussing poetry, children's literature and issues related to teaching children and their future teachers.
Griffin's Stomach RumblesIn hungermy furred tail flicksmy muscled hindquartersset themselves tightly backready to springIn hunger my wide wings beatmy keen eye climbsthe sky, scans the groundready to strikeOnly my talons and claws agree onhow to hunt.****I just can't imagine why it was so easy to choose a mythical creature this morning, except that my daughter and son have such different needs at the moment!Thanks for the challenge, Tricia.
MOUSE MISSIVEBy Steven Withrow My Dearest Love,This fair morning we died:Corncob, Squashtupple, Fortiflax,And I, Bellwhisper,We four of Loop Forsooth,In meadow country of Glisterberry,Roused to the bugle of Her Mouseship'sTwenty-Second Anti-Raptor Infantry,Donned bright centurion suits,Shouldered buckthorn bayonets,And marched to meet our adversaryAt the battle of Low Fernfrond,Mellow month of mustard seed,Year of white leaf.You should know that chiefAmong my thoughts were visionsOf you and of our pups.You'll be pleased to learn not one of us cried,Save for young SquashtuppleWho clutched his thistle rifle like a toyAnd tried to cover a sniffle --But you couldn't blame the boy,For when the skirmish started in earnestAnd shades of dread Horned OwlsCloaked over us like clouds before the moon,Even formidable Fortiflax, who fought the Cats,Elsewhere, in another year and war,Looked no prouder, no stouter than a ghost.I hope you find this posthumous post,If such can describe my mannerOf writing you now,In aftermath of afternoon,Some small consolation for your grief.Tell all others whom you passThis one unhurried thing:Corncob, Squashtupple, Fortiflax,And I, Bellwhisper,Were mice of tested mettle till lastGash of talon and lash of midnight wing,At the battle of Low Fernfrond,Mellow month of mustard seed,Year of white leaf.© 2009 by Steven Withrow
Dr. Alastair Dobbs' Notebook,Final EntryNot a dragon,has no scales.Not a swamp beast,lacks algae.Horns, seven.Not a satyr.Far too largeto be a basilisk.Too many teethto be a minotaur.If I could just—Color, the blackof the inside of a grave.Mine.--Kate Coombs (Book Aunt), 2009
This didn't go at all in the direction I expected.Here be monstersI standOn the pebbled edge of the world,my cardboard spyglasspeering toward the horizonat the break in the swells,ignoring the tide of frustration and ragethat brought me here.After the crashing door.After the hail of thundering words.After outriding the wind on a too-small bicycle.The rise and fall of staticthat buzzes around mein salted eddieshalf drownsthat guilty voice behind my earswhispering, “Leviathan.”Scraped palmson barnacled rocks,feet scrabbling for gripon their soft mossy surfaces,I am at last on the top of the heap,The conquering hero,looking againAt the small circle of oceanwithin the oceanof oceans.It heaves and swells,a sickly green,savaging the waveswith scalesand a mighty roar.The shock of itKnocks the spyglass From my hand.I watch it disappear in the seaLike a drowned bird.What is it to drown?No Ophelia drenched in flowers,but sinew and boneflailed raw against the rocks,until nothing is left But scales and sea;and something sucking just beneath the surfacewhere you can’t quite see;something so deafeningthat you can’t quite hear.Until you wonder where it isthat you end and the sea begins.And then the tide goes out.And then the tide comes in.And nothing is any differentthan it was before,except the dull roarthat stays with youon the long road home.
Hi Tricia ~ Arnold Böcklin's Medusa inspired this one.MEDUSA HAIRPeering into the mirrorstuffy nosed and mouth ajar I see the hair of Medusa slinking round my head with eyes from Böcklin’s painting drooping back at meand immediately decide to go backto bed. © Carol Weis, all rights reserved
"The echeneis is a small fish that is often found on rocks. It has the ability to slow the passage of ships by clinging to their hulls." Pliny the Elder, Natural HistoryECHENEISThe rocks are barely visible beneath the waves, yet, I know they are there. I half hope the echeneis will rise up, make contact, cling to me, restrain me, stop me from touching the edge of the world. Fish,or no fish, I know whatawaits at the end. Sailon, sail on. It's too late now, to turn back.
Fun! Here's mine: FLYING FISH East to west, two Egyptian fishguide the sun-ship across the sky over Cairo, above the dunes of the Sinai. Wouldn't you like to fly through the day sunrise to sunset,cloud-finned, a fish twin?
Julie--I love the sunrise-to-sunset image, and especially "cloud-finned/a fish twin"!Lots of cool poems here... --Kate
I had such a hard time choosing a creature to write about, but I finally settled on a lighthearted approach to the challenge. (I also feel compelled to tell you all that I've never tried a sonnet before, so read gently.)SupermomHer house is clean. She's always dressed to kill.She only shops the most exclusive stores.Her springtime garden bursts with daffodils.At Christmas, she's the first to wreath her doors.Her kids are on the honor roll, of course,Obedient and talented and bright.Her marriages is free from threats of divorce.She and her husband never, ever fight.She's the CPA for a major firmAnd secretary of the PTA.And though her to-do list would make you squirmShe still found time to hit the gym today.No one should emulate this mythic beast.Imperfect is more fun, to say the least.Easter